


The Last Christmas

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor began to say, “This is the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard, even from you,” but before he could finish the first syllable, the child still standing at the Master’s elbow said despairingly, “You’re going to <i>steal Christmas?” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Christmas

Outside it was snowing. The door of the blue box that had suddenly appeared in this landscape not ten minutes earlier opened, and a man in a white straw hat looked out. Initially, he had been wearing a grim expression, as if prepared for the world outside his box to do its worse, but now, seeing the snow, and taking note of several things his scanners had neglected to mention — the passers-by in hats and scarves, the bright lights hanging from streetlamps and strewn over trees, the clashing musical themes emitting from the shops further down the street — the Doctor began to smile. By the time he was outside the box he was grinning up at the sky.

“You can come out,” he called back into the spatially-transcendal time machine currently disguised as a police public call box. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“But it’s somewhere _you’ve_ taken us, Doctor,” a boy pointed out, as he emerged from the box, his customary yellow and green clothing mostly covered by a large brown overcoat. “I don’t think it’s likely to be safe, do you?”

Rather than dignify this with an answer, the Doctor leant around Adric, who was smirking as he pulled on a red woolly hat. “Come on, Tegan. Nyssa. What’s taking so long?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t find my gloves-” Tegan began as she and Nyssa stepped out into the snow, clad in scarves and fluffy earmuffs. Then she stopped and beamed. “Oh, it’s Christmas.”

“It’s Christmas,” the Doctor agreed. “Certainly late in December, though the shops are still open so probably not Christmas day itself. Not your time, Tegan, but not far off. Early twenty-first century, perhaps.”

“I don’t care,” Tegan said, positively radiating happiness in a manner that was extremely unusual for her. “I love Christmas. It’s so,” she paused, searching for the word, before selecting “ _normal._ ”

“Well then,” the Doctor said, offering her his arm in the spirit of the season, “shall we?”

“I assume _Christmas_ is some kind of winter festival,” Nyssa said to Adric as they proceeded down the street behind Tegan and the Doctor, who were occasionally emitting raucous laughter at whatever the other was saying.

“According to the Doctor, it is _the_ winter festival,” Adric said. “He’s crazy about it. Hasn’t he told you?” Nyssa shook her head. “You’re lucky,” Adric assured her. “I’m surprised we haven’t ended up here before, the amount he goes on about it.”

“He was probably trying too hard,” Nyssa said, and smiled when Adric turned to look at her in surprise. “For all the Doctor’s numerous good qualities, he is a terrible pilot.”

“I think he used to be better,” Adric said. “We got to Traken and Logopolis all right.”

In front of them, Tegan gave a surprisingly loud and high pitched laugh, and Adric forgot what he was saying to grin. They were now in the main street, and could clearly see a large fir tree in the main square, covered with lights and baubles and topped by a large star. In front of it was a small sparkling cabin, and a group of chattering, happy people.

“Didn’t you have anything like this on Traken then?” Adric asked Nyssa, who was looking about herself with quiet, scientific interest as if she had never seen anything quite so strange.

“No. Traken’s temperature barely fluctuated,” Nyssa said. “It was always warm enough to walk barefoot, and cool enough to discourage woolly thinking.”

Adric raised his eyebrows as he did whenever Nyssa (who was mostly all right for a girl) said something this boring. “Christmas,” he explained, “is a winter festival, celebrating the birth of a man called Jesus. At the same time, it’s also about another completely different man called Father Christmas, or Santa Claus. Jesus was real, and, according to the Doctor, not much fun at parties, but Santa Claus wasn’t real, which the Doctor thinks is a shame, because his parties would probably have been excellent.”

“And Father Christmas? Is he an officiating Elder?”

“ _No._ He’s the same person as Santa Claus. He brings presents for good children, and everyone else gives presents to their friends-”

“Why?”

“It’s a custom,” Adric said rather than admit he had no idea. In a further attempt to discourage more awkward questions, he began explaining other popular Christmas customs, as detailed to him at length by the Doctor one night on which Adric had made the mistake of visiting the library where the Doctor was re-reading _A Christmas Carol._

Meanwhile, up ahead, the Doctor was saying, “And then the Brigadier unwrapped _his_ present, which seemed to be a toothbrush of a pale greenish colour, and, of course, that _seemed_ perfectly normal, if a bit disappointing. But then it started beeping, and the brush began turning of its own accord. Well, after what had already happened, everyone knew instantly that it must be a bomb or something worse, so Sergeant Benton seized it and took the thing off to be detonated in controlled conditions and we all had a thoroughly good Christmas… Two days later, the Brigadier’s aunt called up to ask how he liked his new electric toothbrush.”

Tegan grinned. “So, did he tell her you’d blown it up?”

“Of course not,” the Doctor said. “I’d had the misfortune to meet her at one of the-” He broke off as a freezing ball of closely packed snow hit him on the back of the neck, which was fortunately wrapped in a thin, red scarf that stopped the cold water trickling down into his coat.

When the Doctor turned around, he found Adric holding his sides with suppressed laughter, but it was Nyssa’s gloved hand that was covered in snowflakes.

“Adric told me it was one of your favourite Christmas customs,” she explained rather meekly.

“ _Did_ he?” the Doctor said, giving Adric a stern look. “As it happens,” he explained to Nyssa, “for once, Adric is absolutely right.” In one fluid movement, he stooped, gathered up a handful of snow and threw it at Adric, who was not laughing so hard that he failed to evade this. The Doctor gathered up more snow as Adric loped away. “Come back here, you little pest,” he shouted, running after his errant companion, sliding on a concealed patch of ice and almost falling over.

Nyssa joined Tegan as the boys (they seemed like boys today) raced around them; laughing threats and snowballs filling the air.

“Enjoying it?” Tegan asked, taking her arm, just as she had taken the Doctor’s.

“I think so,” Nyssa said. “The Doctor certainly seems to be. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy.”

“Without a cricket bat in his hand.”

Nyssa smiled. “You seem happy, too, even though this isn’t your time.”

“You’re right. It isn’t. Again,” Tegan said, collapsing against Nyssa’s shoulder in mock exhaustion. “But yes, I’m having a good time. So far.”

“Are you still planning to leave?”

“Oh. I don’t know,” Tegan said, smiling as Adric raced past, having lost his woolly hat somewhere in the contest. “Maybe. It’s not like the Doctor’s ever going to manage it anyway.”

“I heard that,” the Doctor said, coming up on the other side of Nyssa.

“Good,” Tegan said with a grin. “Maybe it’ll encourage you to improve.”

“It’s more likely to encourage me to push a great deal of snow down your back, I'm afraid,” the Doctor said good-humouredly. The brim of his hat was slowly collecting a soft white covering, and he had a ball of snow in one un-gloved hand. “I don’t want to, Tegan, but I promise you I will, if forced.”

Before Tegan could respond, Nyssa said, “Meet Father Christmas?”

The Doctor turned to look at her. “I’m sorry?”

They were nearing a crowd of people, gathered in front of the small cabin and the fir tree. In the gaps between people it was possible to catch a glimpse of a man in a red and white coat and hat sitting in a large chair. Nyssa pointed to a large sign above the cabin. “There. That sign. ‘Meet Father Christmas.’ But Adric said Father Christmas was the one who wasn’t real.”

“As opposed to… _Jesus,_ ” the Doctor said. “Well, yes, strictly speaking Father Christmas,” he lowered his voice, because there were several children milling around the hut, “isn’t real, but it’s traditional that someone don a beard and red costume,” Adric looped round them, and the Doctor lobbed his final snowball straight at the boy’s head without pausing for breath, “and talk to the children about what they want for Christmas.”

“Why?” Nyssa said.

“It’s nice,” the Doctor said. “A brief moment of magic made corporeal.”

“My father was Santa once when I was six,” Tegan said rather gloomily.

Nyssa frowned. “That’s funny."

“No, it wasn’t,” Tegan said. “I burst into tears. I knew my dad wasn’t Santa, even if none of the other kids did.”

“No,” Nyssa said, “I meant that it’s peculiar, because I was about to say that this Father Christmas looks a lot like _my_ father.”

“ _Oh no,_ ” the Doctor groaned. “ _It can’t be._ ” He began to push through the crowds, upsetting a variety of anxious children and irritable parents as he did so, eventually reaching the large chair in from of the sparkling cabin where a man who looked liked Nyssa’s father sat, talking to a small boy in a navy-blue anorak.

“ _What_ are you doing here?” the Doctor demanded, interrupting the boy who was in the middle of describing how much he would like a dinosaur for Christmas, a really big one, preferably non-man eating though.

The Master (for it was he) smiled broadly. “ _Doctor_ ,” he said, “what a pleasant surprise.”

“It’s not pleasant for me, and I’m sure it’s not a surprise for you,” the Doctor said. “What are you doing here, Master?”

“I am currently gathering information about young Mister Atkinson’s Christmas wishes. As to my greater purpose, that will soon be complete and you will feel the effect for yourself.”

“What _greater purpose_?” the Doctor said flatly, his good mood entirely ruined by the arrival of the Master. “What can you possibly hope to do here?”

Adric ran up still grinning, then stopped as he saw who the Doctor was talking to. _“You,”_ he said. “What are you doing here?” but both Time Lords ignored him.

“I’ve seen what Christmas means to this people,” the Master told the Doctor. “I’ve also seen what it means to you, Doctor, though your own pathetic attachment to this ludicrous festival is simply the icing on the cake. I plan to speed up the Earth’s rotation around the sun by a single day, erasing the 25th of December from existence. Without Christmas to brighten the darker months, there would be general despair, anarchy, rebellion, perhaps even unending war. I will be able to bend these people to my will. Your precious Earth will be mine.”

The Doctor began to say, “This is the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard, even from you,” but before he could finish the first syllable, the child still standing at the Master’s elbow said despairingly, “You’re going to _steal Christmas?”_

“That’s right!” the Master said, and he seized the boy who’d wanted a dinosaur, aiming the TCE at his neck. “Yes, that’s right, Doctor,” he said, as the Doctor started forward and then stopped, “keep your distance, or would you like to see how small Tiny Tim will go?”

“It’s Bernard,” the boy corrected him, clearly terrified but unwilling to be mistaken for someone else.

“Be quiet,” the Master snapped, and backed towards the hut, which the Doctor now realised was his TARDIS. “Have a merry Christmas, Doctor,” he said as he reached the door. “It will be your last.” He began to chuckle, “It will be everyone’s last,” and slammed the door shut.

With a heaving groan Santa’s grotto dematerialised. Some of the people behind the Doctor whooped — clearly impressed, others screamed.

The Doctor turned around and almost ran into Tegan and Nyssa, who were white faced and worried, and someone who was probably Bernard Atkinson’s mother because she said, _“What’s happened to my son?”_ in a panicked voice.

“He’s been — look, I’ll explain later,” the Doctor told her, trying to move back through the crowd. “Right now, I need as much time as possible if I’m to get him back, so if you’ll just — thank you, excuse me, sorry-”

“Can he do it?” Adric asked.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor said. “It’s broadly possible, but- Oh, what _is_ he playing at?” He began to push back through the crowd towards the Christmas tree. The Master’s TARDIS was re-materialising just as nosily as it had taken off, though it was now in its usual column form. As he approached, the door swung open.

“Wait here,” the Doctor said to his companions and the boy’s mother, and, brushing the snow off his hat in case it made him appear foolish, he stepped into the Master’s TARDIS.

The door shut behind him immediately, but, now that he was inside, the Doctor could see that this was not an ominous occurrence. Young Bernard Atkinson and the Master (still in Santa’s coat, but thankfully without the white beard or hat) were chasing each other around the console, much as the Doctor and Adric had chased each other through the snow earlier in the evening. As he ran, Bernard pulled various protruding levers that the Master was trying to reset, even as he tried to recapture the boy.

“I see the grand plan isn’t going as well as you’d hoped,” the Doctor said mildly, stepping between Bernard and the Master and placing a hand on the black console.

“The boy was simply a hostage,” the Master replied, holding the TCE outstretched towards him. “I can complete my plans without him.”

“No, you can’t,” the Doctor told him, “and not only because, as you must have noticed by now, I have my finger on the self-destruct mechanism of this ship, though I think you’ll find it’s a compelling argument in and of itself. I’d be happy to remove it, however, if you give me that device.” He held out his other hand and nodded towards the weapon in the Master’s hand. With obvious bitterness, the Master handed it over, and the Doctor withdrew his hand from the console.

“Excellent,” he said. “The other reason, then, that your ridiculous plan will fail is that Christmas would still exist without the 25th of December. Perhaps the calendar makers would be upset at first, but the rest of the world would carry on giving each other presents and having a nice time whether or not there was a 25th to do it on. You did all that research and you didn’t even learn _that_. Christmas is a-”

The Master pulled the door control. “Please get out,” he said, “and take the brat with you.”

“My name’s Bernard,” said Bernard.

The Doctor grinned at him and, just to be annoying, at the Master. “Come on, Bernard,” he said, and then, to the Master, “You know, of course, that I would never have pressed the button.” The Master glowered, the Doctor wished him a Merry Christmas, and he and Bernard left the TARDIS and stepped back out into the snowy night.

On the way back to the TARDIS the Doctor spotted a smallish Christmas tree in a pot and borrowed it as a reward to himself for saving the festive season. He bought presents for all his companions, forced them to eat Christmas pudding he’d whipped up in the TARDIS kitchens, and play Charades, which was extremely difficult as none of them had the same cultural references, but, the Doctor felt, ultimately rewarding.

He also made two other seasonal stops, one to Earth in the early 21st century, and one to Gallifrey. Even the Doctor thought it was a bit irresponsible to give a dinosaur to a seven-year-old boy, but he made sure there was a large iguana in a cage waiting for Bernard Atkinson on the morning of the 25th of December. In the true spirit of Christmas, he also selected a present for the Master. It was with deep inner turmoil that he considered giving away his signed first edition of _A Christmas Carol_ , but he decided, in the end, that he didn’t really like the Master that much, and had settled on a paperback edition in which he inscribed, _I think you need to read this again_. He also wrote, _Possibly some useful tips in here_ on the inside cover of Dr. Seuss’s classic tale about a Grinch with a heart three times too small, and left both books in the Master’s long-abandoned pigeon hole, where the man would (appropriately) never find or appreciate them.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been pointed out to me that Tegan is Australian, and therefore when she says 'normal' what she really means is 'completely different to how my Christmasses used to be, but still really exciting'. Maybe she lived with Auntie Vanessa for years before Logopolis... I don't know.


End file.
